Chapter Sixteen
Darcy had scarcely crossed the threshold of his town house on South Audley Street when Georgiana appeared at the top of the stairs, a crumpled letter clenched in her fist, her eyes red and swollen above cheeks that were blotched from crying.
She descended until she reached the bottom and stopped, as though she had lost the will to continue.
“Georgiana.” He caught her by the shoulders at the foot of the stairs, shooting an apologetic glance at the butler before steering her towards the closest parlour and closing the door behind them. He guided her to the small damask couch near the window and sat beside her.
“You might have told me.” She took a deep breath and continued, her voice breaking. “You ought to have told me!”
“Told you what?”
“That you had married Anne!”
He was on his feet at once. “Good God. How did you come by that?”
“Lady Catherine wrote to ask how you and Anne were getting on.” She thrust the letter at him and he barely gave it a passing glance.
“Why would you keep such a thing from me? After Ramsgate, do you trust me so little? Have I sunk so far in your esteem that my own brother would not see fit to tell me he had taken our own cousin to wife?”
She turned her face into the cushions, her whole frame shaking, and he sank to his knees, the accursed letter falling to the floor.
“Georgiana, I am not married.” Her sobs continued unabated. “I am not married,” he repeated, more firmly, and at last she stilled and lifted her face, blotched and damp.
After several uneven breaths, she asked, “Then what possessed Lady Catherine to write such a falsehood?”
“Because it is precisely what Richard, Anne, and I intended her to believe.” He rose and offered his hand. “Come. I am half-starved, and there is a great deal of information I need to impart. Let us see what we can persuade Mrs. Pennyroyal to send up.”
After sending a footman off with their request for refreshments, they made their way to the family parlour.
The air was warm from the glow of late afternoon sun filtering through tall mullioned windows, its rays dancing upon polished mahogany furniture and illuminating the bright tapestry their mother had picked for the opposite wall.
A gentle hush reigned, broken only by the faint ticking of a mantel clock and the soft rustle of Georgiana’s gown as she sank into a cushioned fauteuil.
Darcy settled opposite her in a matching chair.
As they waited, Darcy, his voice low with reminiscence, recounted his conduct from the moment he first arrived in Meryton last autumn up to his walk that afternoon with Lady Elizabeth.
As he finished his tale, a maid entered with their simple meal of sandwiches and a selection of fruit from their orangery.
“I have met Lady Elizabeth,” Georgiana remarked, pausing to sample a roasted beef sandwich. “She and her aunt were visiting Lady Matlock one day when I happened to be there.”
Darcy arched a dark brow. “Lady Matlock is acquainted with Lady Elizabeth?”
Georgiana smiled as she set the plate aside. “Indeed. They first met formally at Lady Meadowbrook’s ball, but Lady Matlock has long been acquainted with knowledge of the Bennet sisters. She and Mrs. Gardiner have been friends for many years.”
He fell silent until Georgiana looked up, expectant. “In truth, I only learned of her family connections this afternoon, though I never imagined she would count our aunt among her friends.”
“They, Lady Meadowbrook, Mrs. Gardiner, and our aunt have become inseparable companions. As close as sisters,” Georgiana replied, toying with the handle of her teacup. “I would love nothing better than to have someone with whom I could share quiet confidences.”
“If all proceeds as I hope,” Darcy said with a slight smile at his sister’s raised brow, “you shall gain not merely one new sister, but five.”
Georgiana’s eyes widened. “You intend to ask Lady Elizabeth to marry you?”
“I do,” Darcy confessed. “For now, we are merely in the season of courtship. My desire is marriage, but her affections are like the lilac planted by the garden wall, sufficiently swollen with promise, yet not quite in bloom to diffuse its fragrance.”
“I never knew you were so poetic,” Georgiana whispered, half in awe.
Darcy’s lips curved with unexpected warmth. “Lady Elizabeth inspires me beyond any expectation.”
With a fond smile, Georgiana reached across the small table to curl her fingers around his. “If she has any sense,” she declared softly, “she will fall irrevocably in love with you.”
Darcy lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss upon her knuckles.
“Thank you, dearest Georgiana. That is my greatest hope.” He returned to his sandwich as Georgiana sat back, a dreamy smile lighting her face.
After a thoughtful pause, Darcy inclined his head in invitation.
“Would you like to accompany me the next time I visit Lady Elizabeth?”
“Oh, yes!” she exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat. “I have met her just the one time, but she did not treat me as an empty-headed child, but asked my opinion, and we spoke at length on the genius of Mozart.”
Darcy smiled, his gaze distant with admiration. “She is remarkably discerning. Even before her father became an earl, she never fawned over anyone. She judges a person solely by their character and conduct.”
Georgiana giggled softly. “Then I suppose she gave no quarter to Miss Bingley in Hertfordshire.”
Darcy’s deep laughter echoed through the cosy room. “Not one bit.”
“Brother,” Georgiana began, “you realise Lady Catherine would not have written to only me.”
Shock rooted Darcy to the comfortable seat of the chair. Dear Lord in Heaven, who else could Lady Catherine have gloated to? After a polite knock on the door to the parlour, Burke stepped in.
“Lady Matlock to see Miss Darcy,” he announced in a solemn voice.
Both Darcy and his sister had barely scrambled to their feet when the door swung wide open and back against the wall. Lady Matlock’s skirts preceded her into the room, a great rustling advance guard of dark green taffeta, and then the rest of her followed like a summer storm.
Upon spying Darcy, his aunt marched up to him and jabbed him sharply in the shoulder.
“How dare you marry Anne without so much as a word to us?” she snapped, her voice pitched with indignation.
“I am not married to Anne,” Darcy repeated, for the second time that day.
Lady Matlock produced a folded sheet of paper; its edges already creased from anxious hands.
“I hold a letter from my husband’s sister that states otherwise.
Catherine claims you and Anne were wed by Special License and then shut yourselves away at Pemberley for three months.
I came at once to fetch Georgiana, convinced you had abandoned her and Mrs. Annesley to fend for themselves. ”
He drew a steadying breath. “She has been deliberately misinformed.”
“Explain your meaning.”
“Anne and Richard were married two weeks ago.”
“Married? Richard?” The countess reeled back as though struck, one trembling hand darting to the nearest chair to steady herself before collapsing into it, rendered suddenly frail.
For a long moment, she sat utterly still, eyes wide, mouth parting and then flattening into a thin line of fury.
“My son — married — without even so much as a note to his own mother? Me, who has prayed for his welfare these many years? My son…who vowed never to wed. My son,” she thundered, her voice echoing beneath the vaulted ceiling, “who has never disappointed me so bitterly.”
Darcy knelt beside her, placing a gentle hand on her forearm. He struggled to temper his remorse.
“Aunt,” he said softly, “circumstances demanded haste. Anne insisted on marrying Richard at once, and we deemed it essential to remove her from her mother’s influence. Had Lady Catherine known—”
“Is Anne not of age? Does Catherine keep her daughter chained in an attic? They did not even extend the courtesy of allowing us, his father and I, the privilege of witnessing our son’s wedding.
” Lady Matlock sprang up and began to pace, her skirts swaying in rhythmic agitation, a sight Darcy had never witnessed.
Her usual calm was replaced by a fierce resolve that spelled trouble for his cousins, and perhaps for him, too. He was also responsible for the ruse.
“We should have sent an express to inform you and Lord Matlock,” he conceded quietly, meeting her cold, gleaming stare. She paused mid-stride and sank into another chair, deliberately distant. No more comforting gestures, he thought idly.
“Why does this family kowtow to that woman?” his aunt wondered out loud.
“She possesses a… commanding personality,” he began, then stopped when his aunt made a cutting motion with her hand. Not wishing to argue further, he resumed his seat near Georgiana.
“Spare me the dramatics! You are a grown man, master of an extensive estate with hundreds of tenants and servants, and yet you are incapable of telling an aged woman that you will not marry her daughter.” The withering glance she shot at him pierced him to the core.
“I once recommended a suitable match, and you, in that famously frigid ‘Master of Pemberley’ tone, informed me that you would choose your own bride, thank you very much. Why could you not do the same to Catherine?”
Darcy settled back against the plush arm of the chair. He had no answer, only the echoing question of “when”. When had he relinquished authority, wielded all his life, to the whims of his mother’s sister? Until Elizabeth, no other had ever held such sway over him.
“Brother.” Georgiana’s soft voice cut through the storm of his thoughts. “Perhaps now would be a good time to share your news with our aunt.”